


Torn

by randomrhinoceros



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: AltMal, Arguments, Assassin's Creed - Freeform, M/M, Novice Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Torn Clothing, Ugh, al mualim mentioned, does anyone even want ac fics anymore, idk what this is, interruptions, malik is done with his shit, novices need assistance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 05:52:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15018065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomrhinoceros/pseuds/randomrhinoceros
Summary: I honestly don't even know what this is except absolute crap. But, I'm kinda proud of this crap so I hope you enjoy. My first ever ship, I hold them near and dear to my heart.





	Torn

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't even know what this is except absolute crap. But, I'm kinda proud of this crap so I hope you enjoy. My first ever ship, I hold them near and dear to my heart.

The taller man stared at him as if he’d grown an extra head.

Malik felt his face and neck flush, thankful for his darker complexion which hid his embarrassment. He looked to his hand and the strip of white cloth he held, then back at the man in front of him.

Altaïr’s golden eyes were wide with shock, Malik never lost his temper, he was always the cool and collected one, no matter how angry he might be. Always balancing out his own short fuse. He glanced down at his torn robes and began to laugh.

Malik’s jaw softened, and he stared, bewildered, at the assassin in front of him who was now doubled over and stumbling.

“Altaïr, have you taken leave of your senses?” He queried.

“No,” Altaïr gasped out, “It’s just that you thought you were angry with me before, but, now you’ll have to fix this mess!”

“What do you mean, ‘I have to fix it?’” Malik spluttered.

Altaïr straigtened, lips still curved in a grin, “Well, sir, as you know I have no ability to sew. Also, I am to meet with Al Mualim this evening.”

“So change into your other robes,” Malik huffed, making his way back to his desk in the bureau with a gesture of dismissal.

Altaïr followed, leaning across the tidy desktop as Malik sat on the stool behind it. Plucking the scrap of cloth from Malik’s hand and twirling it around his finger, he smirked, “My other robes are still covered in blood.”

Malik groaned, “Fetch me my sewing kit then, novice,” he conceded. Still angry with Altaïr who insisted on putting himself in more danger than necessary, just for ‘fun.’  
Altaïr nodded and left the room briefly, returning with a small wooden box that he placed before the smaller man.

Malik’s gaze traveled from the box to Altaïr expectantly. The assassin simply crossed his arms and returned his gaze curiously.

Malik threw his hand up in exasperation, “Altair, how do you expect me to mend your robes if you do not remove them?” The exclamation earned a satisfied smile from the man in front of him.

“I was simply waiting for your instruction, Malik,” Altaïr murmured, slowly removing his hood.

Malik observed his partner, transfixed, as he began to remove his weapons, one at a time, desperately slow, laying them out neatly beside him.  
As he reached his sash clasp, Altaïr’s smoldering eyes caught Malik’s, causing him to suck in a breath.

Altaïr felt the corner of his mouth twitch, satisfied that he alone could earn this reaction from the strict man in front of him.

Malik wet his chapped lips and cast his gaze briefly about the room, acutely aware that someone could drop in at any moment and see Altaïr in his state of undress. The thought of anyone else’s eyes on his partner displeased him.

“Altaïr, what if someone were to enter?”

“Worry not, Malik,” Altaïr spoke with a mischievous grin, “they will simply receive a free show.” The crimson sash hit the floor, allowing his robes to fall open, the torn piece hanging limply.

Altaïr shrugged his robes slowly off of his shoulders to land in a small heap on the floor. He began making his way to the darker skinned man behind the desk, his quiet footfalls only just disturbed the dust.

Malik turned on his stool as Altaïr rounded his desk, breath quickening when his partner came to stand looming over him.

Malik’s eyes fixated on the many scars littering Altaïr’s torso, sad that he had endured so much, yet, proud that he had lived to tell the tale. A warm hand gently gripped his chin and lifted his gaze to meet bright golden eyes that were so striking.

Altaïr captured Malik’s lips with his own, the kiss slow and deliberate, Malik relaxed into it, his hand rising to rest on his partner’s hip.

Malik, pulled away, still taken aback at the other man’s brazen approach. Altaïr was not usually one to initiate physical contact, let alone in a semi public place like the bureau. Malik was not going to let this moment go to waste though, keeping his eyes on Altaïr’s face he began to trace feather light kisses just above the waistband of his partner’s pants that were slung low on his hips.

Altaïr’s breathing hitched, with Malik’s teasing it would soon be hard to hide his arousal should someone drop in. He wanted to stay in charge for once, so, he pulled Malik up, pushing his back against the wall behind them, and began to lick and nip his way down Malik’s jaw to the sensitive spot on his neck.

Altaïr soon felt Malik’s pulse pick up beneath his lips, and as he settled on Malik's lap their lust became evident. Grinding his hips against his partner’s, he found the opening of the Dai’s robes, brushing calloused fingers down the trail of fine hairs.

As his hand reached the trobbing point between Malik’s legs, a thud was heard in the atrium of the bureau.

“Peace, Malik,” a young male voice called, “I am in need of assistance!”

Altaïr growled and stepped away, a thunderous glare aimed at the walkway to the front of the building. He quickly made his way to his robes, shaking the dust off of them, he folded them over one arm so that they hung conveniently in front of him.

Malik hastily sat back on his stool, resting his elbow on the desk, he spoke clearly, “Please, enter, and tell me how I can be of service.”

Altaïr stood at the edge of the room, and watched the novice enter. His presence seemed to make the young assassin jumpy, no doubt because he stood silently observing, half naked and scowling, as he asked for assistance with his next mission.

Malik’s voice seemed somewhat strained as he conversed, his eyes darting back to the angry master assassin regularly, his hand coming to rest at his neck, hiding the redness that Altaïr had left there.

“Perhaps this is a bad time,” the novice muttered, sensing the tension in the room rise. “I can return tomorrow.”

“Very well,” Malik sighed with a note of relief.

As the novice made his exit, Altaïr made his way back to his partner. “Damned mood murderer,” he growled and roughly dropped his robes on the desk, before stalking over and flopping down on a cushion to observe Malik as he repaired the material.

Malik was surprisingly skilled at sewing, even after the loss of his left arm, he made quick work in his task and was soon tying off the final knot.

“It is fixed,” Malik sighed, placing the leftover thread and needle back into the box. “When are you to meet with Al Mualim?”

“Before sundown,” grumbled Altaïr.

“That is not long off,” Malik observed.

“I am aware,” Altaïr stood, knowing that he was acting childish, he’d simply wanted to enjoy the company of his partner in a different setting.  
Taking hold of the robes in Malik’s outstretched hand, he gently pulled Malik with them until he stood directly in front of him.

Altaïr kissed Malik again, this time rough and full of a primal need that left his partner’s head spinning.

Malik took a step back when their lips parted, eyes trailing fire over Altaïr’s body, his voice was husky when he found it, “You had better go now, Altaïr, you wouldn’t want to keep Al Mualim waiting.”

Altaïr hurriedly dressed and ensured that all of his weapons were in place. As he turned to leave, he felt Malik grip his sleeve. Before he could utter a word, Malik’s lips were on his again, his hand now gently cupped Altaïr’s face. They broke apart, foreheads resting together.

“Hurry back, Novice.”


End file.
